I Spy With A Raven's Eye
by Inkwell44
Summary: Sam & Dean look for the lost ravens of Odin. (Brownie points for those who find the Dr. Who Reference in the story.)
Chapter 1

Black eyes glanced about. The eyes missed nothing.

A crow landed on the branch of a tree outside a white house in a suburb. It looked around. It peered through the window of the house into the downstairs living room.

A boy of about eleven years old sat on the living room couch, completely motionless except for his thumbs on the small game consul held in his hands. His eyes looked nowhere else but the screen. He barely even blinked so riveted was his attention on the game.

A woman walked through the room carrying a laundry basket of dirty clothes.

"Have you done your homework yet?" she asked as she passed by.

The boy shrugged silently.

"Excuse me?" replied his mother. "I didn't hear that,"

The boy lolled his head, rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Later! I'll do it later."

His mother re-entered the room without the laundry and snatched the game out of his hands. The motionless child suddenly came alive, springing to his feet with a loud cry of protest.

"You're not getting this back until you eat dinner and do your homework," she insisted.

The boy pouted. "But I'm not hungry,"

His mother was ready for it. She shook her head with a stern grin. "You only say that because I won't feed you mac 'n cheese five times a week."

"No," he objected. "I only say that because you make broccoli. I HATE broccoli! Dad doesn't make me eat it."

His mother wasn't having any of it today.

"I can tell that by your waistline! Now take out the trash and wash up for dinner," she fired back.

More grumbling.

"Joey, that's enough!" his mother's voice had reached a volume no child likes to hear. "Hop to it. Now!"

Complaining and grousing in a tone not quite low enough for his mother not to hear, Joey grabbed the two black bags of trash sitting in the hallway and trundled them out the door, huffing and puffing a bit more than was necessary.

"Dad doesn't make me take out the trash," he griped to himself. Joey truly felt he had gone to hell. His Mom's house had no video games, no cheetos or chips or candy, nothing at all which he considered fun in any way. And she made him help out with the chores, like a slave! The minute his Dad would drop him off at his mother's house, she would take away his phone and any game he had on him. She made him eat green things and exercise and read his homework. He hated reading! Reading was for losers.

Joey pouted some more and furrowed his eyebrows petulantly.

First chance he got, he would tell Dad how poorly his mother treated him. Then she'd be sorry!

He puffed the trash bags out onto the porch and looked up.

A black bird was sitting on the railing looking at him. It was quite close. He could have reached out and touched it.

Joey frowned.

"I bet _your_ mother doesn't make you eat broccoli!" he sneered.

He frowned some more. The bird sat there blinking at him.

Joey threw a kick at the bird on the railing.

"Gwan! Get outta here ya stupid bird!" he shouted.

The crow cawed raucously and flew away.

Joey wrestled the two bags down the steps and then looked up. For the umpteenth time he hated his Mom's new place. It had a long gravel driveway which snaked away from the house before it finally reached the curb by the roadside.

He sighed angrily and hefted the bags. The more he walked the heavier they got. He had to stop and take a breather.

This time he noticed two black birds standing on the lawn looking at him. He stooped, grabbed a stone and threw it hard at the crows. The birds flew off but the stone hit home on one of the bird's wings. It shrieked and flew away crookedly.

Joey cheered in triumph that his missile had hit. "Dumb, ugly birds!" he chuckled. He hefted the trash bags once more and hobbled them the rest of the way to the can at the curb. He had to stop when he reached it because he was out of breath again. He looked about as he caught his breath.

He suddenly stopped panting.

There were crows everywhere! There were crows hopping about on the asphalt on the road in front of him, crows behind him on the gravel driveway and the lawn, crows in the trees, crows clustered on the mailbox two feet away.

And they were all looking at him. They made no sound. They just looked, blinking their beady, black eyes.

Joey began to tremble.

Without taking his eyes off the birds, he hurriedly opened the trashcan lids by feel, flopped in the bags and dropped it close.

Then he turned to face the long, scenic driveway back to the safety of the house.

The lawn and driveway were black with birds. They peered up at him from glittering, black eyes. They rustled their shiny, black feathers and hopped closer to him.

Then a big crow in the trees cawed loudly as if signaling the others. As one, every single black bird jumped into the air, spreading their wings wide and flew straight at Joey. They enveloped him like a villain's cape.

Joey barely had time to scream.

Chapter 2

A thousand obsidian colored eyes peered down on him accusingly. A thousand black wings beat him about the face. He threw his arms up about his head to protect his eyes to no avail. A thousand tiny cuts were opened on his arms from the pinching assault of shiny, black beaks. Something pecked his ear. A raucous, grating cry sounded like it was right next to his face. There were words in that cry, words no bird could ever make. He heard them clearly.

Dean yelled and sat bolt upright.

The horrible vision vanished. There were no ominous black birds, no beating wings, no sinister, black, avian eyes glaring at him, nothing pecking at him.

He was alone in his bed in the underground compound. He moved his leg and a beer bottle rolled off the edge and clattered noisily onto the floor without breaking.

It was only a dream.

He sighed heavily in relief and ran a tired hand through his short-cropped hair.

The dark visions had seemed so real. He could actually feel the wind from the wings on his face and the blood running down his skin from the flock of beaks pecking at him and the sharp sting of the wounds. Here he was indoors, underground and far away from anything a bird would like and he still felt like the dream was going on around him. It had just seemed so real. It felt like it was living around him in every shadow and indistinct corner of his room. He could still feel the eyes, those evil, black bird eyes…as if they were watching him, invisible but there, like a ghost in the room. The air felt stuffy and thick.

He needed to clear his head. He needed out of this bedroom which held him close like a cramped cage. He needed caffeine.

The lights were on and the smell of black coffee hung heavy in the air. Sam was up.

Coffee. That was what he needed. Coffee and to get out of this windowless, stifling room which held him hostage. Dean managed to rouse himself and stagger down the hall.

Sam was up and seated at the table in the library. A laptop was open before him and the blue light from the screen lit up his face framed by long, dark locks. A cup of coffee was at his elbow. He toyed absently with a nearby pen. He looked bright, clear and alert. Dean hated him for it.

He staggered over to the coffee machine like it held ambrosia from heaven. Coffee was what he needed. Coffee would shake the disturbing memories and feelings from his mind. Coffee was his savior.

Sam glanced up at, a cursory glance meant only to acknowledge his presence in the room, which, morphed into a more probing glare of his full attention.

"You look like hell," he commented. "What happened? Couldn't sleep?"

Dean could barely wait to doctor his morning elixir the way he liked before he raised the cup to his lips and took a big gulp, not caring if he burned his mouth. The coffee slid down his throat to his belly. He closed his eyes and he sighed in relief.

He dismissed Sam's words with a brief shake of his head. "Just need my morning brew, that's all," he insisted.

"You sure?" Sam persisted. "That's not your normal, 'I need java' face."

"I said I'm fine," Dean assured him irritably. "Just had a nightmare. A normal, stupid, make no sense, crazy nightmare that's all. I drink enough Joe and I'll be fine."

Sam nodded. There was an uncomfortable pause between them. Dean gulped more coffee.

"Wanna…talk about it?" Sam offered.

Dean grimaced at his brother. "Not particularly, Dr. Phil, thank you. I just wanna wake up and go back to work."

Dean upended the cup and swallowed the last dregs. Sam's eyebrows hopped a little higher.

"Wow. Killed that one a little quicker than usual," Sam muttered to himself but Dean heard.

Dean grumbled something unintelligible and prepared himself another cup. The coffee was helping. He was feeling much better already. Now if he could just get Sam to stop playing the male bonding ticket, this day would be off to a great start.

He seated himself across from Sam and drummed a little pattern on the table-top.

"What's up? Got a case for us?" he asked, trying desperately to get him off the subject.

Sam sighed and nodded, deciding to let it slide. He turned his eyes back the computer screen.

"Well, try this one on for size," he began, cheerily. " A suburb just outside of Hanover, Pennsylvania an eleven year old kid by the name of Joey Torres, dies suddenly. Wanna hazard a guess what he died of?"

"Too early for me to be that imaginative, Sammy. Just tell me." Dean replied taking another large swig from his cup.

"His eyes were pecked out by a flock of birds," Sam said.

Dean nearly spewed his mouthful of wake-up brew. But that would have been a waste of good coffee. With an effort, he choked it down. Sam hadn't noticed and went on.

"According to the news report, the boy was severely pecked all over but the main cause of death was loss of the eyes. Apparently, the birds got pretty deep."

Dean took a few breaths before he was able to speak. "Lemme guess. A flock of black birds did it?"

"Yeah, but I thought it was too early for you to guess," Sam said, giving him a quizzical look. "How'd you know?"

Dean just shook his head with a wry smile. "Just lucky like that. So what, this town suddenly has a bad case of Hitchcock syndrome?"

Sam shivered uncomfortably. "Quit reminding me! I hated that movie as a kid. Gave me nightmares for weeks."

This cheered up Dean considerably. "Good old Alfred Hitchcock! He came up with some pretty twisted stuff. Anymore bird murders there?"

Sam frowned and pecked away at the keyboard. "Not that I'm seeing. But I'll research more on the way if you wanna check it out. Does it sound like a case to you?"

"That's definitely got weird written all over it. And it's near Hanover, Pa. You know what that means, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes wandered about and he shrugged. "Haven't a clue,"

"Utz chips, best potato chips in the world and Yuenling beer! How soon can we leave?" Dean sprang to his feet with a wide grin.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "My God, Dean! You will turn any case into an excuse to sample the local fare."

Dean just chuckled. "Hey, I'm still waiting for you to find me that case in Vegas!"

"Yeah, so not happening!" Sam laughed as he snapped close his laptop and stood up. "We go to Vegas and I'd lay money on you doing something asinine to embarrass me!"

"Hey what happens in Vegas…!" Dean sang cheerfully.

Sam just shook his head and left to pack.

Chapter 3

Dean drove the Impala and Sam rode shotgun as usual. Except this time Sam was slouched over fast asleep in the passenger seat. His dreaming mind was far away.

There was the sound of wings all about him. He immediately thought of Cas and looked about for him. But what he saw instead was an enormous flock of black birds flying straight towards him. He turned to flee and his world suddenly dissolved into shades of black, white and gray. He was running down the main street of a small town. He had no idea how he got there. He could hear waves in the background and smell the salty air of the sea. Some dim sense made him aware all the cars parked alongside the streets seemed to hail from the early 1960's. People were screaming and running in the same direction he was. He noticed all the men and women were dressed in '60's fashion as well.

And then the birds caught up with them.

They landed on the women and pulled their carefully coiffed hair. They knocked the hats off men's heads. They pulled the pigtails of little girls and descended in clouds on baby carriages. Everywhere people were screaming. And mixed in with the screams were the raucous, grating cries of the black birds.

Sam had his arms up over his head, trying to shoo the birds away. His eyes darted about, looking for any escape from the aerial assault. He spotted a familiar car.

The Impala sat nearby, a black beacon of hope and safety amid all the chaos around him. Sam didn't stop to think why a car of such later make was parked there on the street. He just bolted for it.

The birds had landed on his arms and were pecking gashes into his hands and scalp. He flapped his arms wildly and yanked the car door handle. It popped open with its familiar welcome creak of old metal joints and he dove headfirst inside, slamming it close behind him.

Panting in fear, he peered up through the windshield at the dark scene of terror and destruction outside. There was a raucous caw at his shoulder. He started and shrank away from its source.

One bird had made it into the safety of the car with him. It sat on the dash before him and cocked its head to glare at Sam. In all of the black and white world about him, there was only one spot of color anywhere.

Red blood dripped from the bird's bill.

Then the large, dark bird opened its beak, anointed in red and spoke in a perfectly human voice.

" _Odin's eye is upon you, Sam Winchester,"_

With a twist and a jerk, Sam woke up.

The world was back in color. He was seated in the Impala, it was dawn and they were traveling along a deserted country road in Pennsylvania. Dean was in the driver's seat and was looking at him with a startled expression.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam rolled his eyes and rubbed his face, running both hands through his long hair.

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever," he muttered.

Dean continued to glance in concern at him as he drove.

"Well, that was convincing," he said. "Wanna try again?"

"I said I'm fine," Sam reassured. "Thanks Dr. Phil."

"Ah!" Dean breathed in sudden comprehension. "Have a nightmare did you?"

Sam refused to look at him. "Something like that," Sam grumbled.

"Wanna tell your big brother Dean all about it?" he said in a teasing tone of voice.

Sam's brows furrowed in irritation. "Not particularly," he grumped.

They drove on in silence for a long moment, neither one looking at the other.

Sam slid his eyes over to Dean's side of the car without turning his head away from the road in front of them, watching his expression. Then he spoke one word.

"Nevermore,"

Dean was silent. But his brows had furrowed in concern. So Sam continued. "Odin's eye is upon you…"

Then Sam had to brace himself to keep from hitting the dash when Dean suddenly slammed on the brakes.

For a long moment, he said nothing. The car's engine puttered. Dean stared straight ahead at the hood on the Impala without really seeing it. The knuckles of his hands on the steering wheel had gone white.

"Black birds…?" Dean said in a distant sounding voice.

"Lots of black birds," Sam replied. "They weren't very nice either."

"Did…did one…talk?" Dean asked.

"Yes," replied Sam. "It said, 'The eye of Odin…"

"'Is upon you, Dean Winchester,'" Dean finished for him in a breathless moan.

Sam nodded. "Except they said my name at the end."

Dean looked at him. "What the Hell is going on?"

Sam just shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "But it seems someone sure wants us to find out."

Dean heaved a heavy sigh and took his foot slowly off the brakes. "No more Alfred Hitchcock or Edgar Allan Poe jokes, okay?"

"Fine by me," Sam agreed.

Chapter 4

"Mrs. Torres?" Dean asked as they approached the porch steps.

A woman was kneeling on the ground, weeding her flowerbeds.

"Yes?" she said and sitting up she swiveled her head about.

As per their normal routine, Sam and Dean whipped out their fake badges.

"My name is Agent R. James," Dean said and then waved to his brother. "This is Agent Dio. We're from The F.B.I. and we'd like to ask you some questions about your son's death."

"We're very sorry for the loss of your son, Mrs. Torres," Sam earnestly told the woman in front of him.

The woman rose to her feet and turned to face them. She was thin and had brown hair which hung in waves to her shoulders. She wore gardening gloves. She wore no make-up her skin was pale and her eyes puffy from frequent crying. Her free hand caressed the skin of her throat protectively.

"Its not Torres anymore," she told them. "Its Bennett. Alice Bennett. I went back to my maiden name after Tony and I divorced."

"Ms. Bennett," continued Sam in a softer, more sympathetic tone of voice. "I know this is hard. But if you could tell us anything that might help with our investigation…"

Ms. Bennett sniffed distantly. "What's to investigate? Joey's dead. Nothing you find out will ever bring my baby back. What's done is done."

Sam and Dean exchanged concerned looks.

Dean sighed and struggled to be kind. "I know we can't bring him back. But the circumstances of his passing were rather…unusual."

Alice turned her eyes on Dean and now they held a scornful, almost accusatory light.

"Its not murder!" She insisted. "It was just some crazy accident. No one makes a flock of wild birds kill someone."

Her eyes teared up again and she bit her lip.

"Ms. Bennett, how long have you been divorced from your ex?" Sam asked trying to direct the inquiry to something less emotional.

She took a deep breath, sighed and managed to control herself enough to answer.

"Oh, about six months," she replied. Gulping down her tears, she forced herself to continue. The first few words shook with the effort. "The older Joey got, the more conflict there was between Tony and I on our parenting styles. He said I was too strict and I thought he was too lenient. We divorced and because Tony is an attorney, he worked the system to get main custody of Joe. I only had him on the weekends. I noticed a change in Joey the minute we started going back and forth with visits."

She took off her gloves and placed them on the porch railing. They noticed her nails, once nicely manicured, were short and ragged.

"What kind of change?" asked Dean.

She sighed again and crossed her arms in front of herself. She shook her head. "When we were together, Joey was a good kid. Really good, you know? Got good grades, was physically active, did his chores…"

She lapsed into silence and her eyes took on a faraway look.

"And afterwards? What happened? How did Joey change?" Sam asked, quietly coaxing the answer out of her.

She threw up her hands in submission.

"Day and night! He didn't want to do his homework, he could have cared less about sports…all he wanted to do was play video games and eat junk food. I could see him starting to gain weight. And he started to talk back to me…like all…the…time! Honestly I felt like an evil stepmother."

The brothers nodded.

"And how was he when he was with his father? To the best of your knowledge, of course," Dean asked, smiling helpfully.

She rolled her eyes. "Where do I begin? Well, they have a maid so he no longer had to do chores over there. His father never pushed him to do well in school he stocked the house with anything Joey wanted to eat and then had his maid fix it for him. Ever since the divorce, Tony got very hateful towards women and I could just see Joey start to pick up on it. It was like a competition. If I said one thing, Tony would be sure to say the complete opposite. It was like being in a meat grinder between the two of them."

Dean nodded. "And…the day of the bird attack…what happened?"

Her face twisted up and her shoulders heaved. She covered her mouth. "I took my eyes off him for a second. Just a second! I told him to take out the trash. And he did it. Grumbling all the way but he did it. And the next moment…he was gone. It happened that fast."

The tears started to flow again. Although she had her mouth covered, they could see her biting her lip on the churning ache barely restrained just under the surface. One mere scratch and it would bubble up again.

"He could have skipped the trash that night. Why did I insist? Just one night. I might still have my baby boy with me if…"

Sam and Dean dropped their eyes.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Bennett. Once again, we're so sorry," said Sam softly.

She nodded and they turned and left.

They both held their tongues until they got back to the Impala.

"So?" started Sam. "What do you think?"

Dean shrugged and drummed fitfully on the hood. "Poor mom to loose her kid like that. She's obviously torn up about it."

Sam frowned and shrugged back. "But is it a case? Is this murder or just a freak accident?"

"Oh I'm willing to lay money on this being a case," Dean insisted. "Murder by crow isn't exactly human."

Sam sniffed and smiled. "Kinda funny you would say that, Dean," He opened the door to the car and pulled out his laptop.

"Hunh? Why?" Dean asked.

Sam pecked away and squinted at the screen in the sunlight and then moved to sit inside the car where it was shady so he could see the screen better.

"A group of crows is called a murder," he replied still pecking away. "Wonder if this is how they came up with that term."

Dean gave a crooked smile. "Do you know how dorky you sound? You need to be on a game show or something!"

"Shut up!" Sam replied with a smile never turning his eyes away from the screen. "Here's something interesting…"

"Oh God! I'm doomed!" moaned Dean.

"Says here that crows are a member of the corvid family which includes rooks, magpies, ravens but not grackles…"

"Wait. What the Hell is a grackle?" asked Dean.

Sam paused. "It looks like a crow but has yellow eyes."

Dean absorbed this new bit of information.

"There's a black bird with demon yellow eyes? Fan-friggin'-tastic!" Dean shook his eyes. "You know Sammy, sometimes less is more."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You asked me!"

"Okay, never mind. Where's this going?" Dean sighed.

Sam shrugged. "I just thought that since we both had dreams about black birds and since the killing was caused by black birds I'd look it up."

Dean thought about it for a moment and then nodded. Sam was right. But damned if he was going to admit it aloud.

"And I also thought I'd look up Odin since his name was mentioned," Sam's fingers continued to fly over the keys.

"But we already know that," Dean said.

Sam looked at him with a quizzical smile. "Really? Fine. Then please tell the class who Odin was."

"He was…some Viking…Norse diety…spirit, or some such thing," Dean sputtered. "God! I wanna Yuenglinger! I have yet to try one!"

Sam snickered at him. "Almost. He was _the_ god of the Old Norse, their All Father. In fact we met him at the Elysian Fields Hotel. Remember?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm trying very hard not to! I told myself that was all some kind of drunken nightmare."

"Hmmm," sniffed Sam furrowing his brows. His attention had returned to the machine before him.

Dean rolled his eyes again. "Great! What did you find this time, Sherlock?"

"It says that Odin had two pet ravens named Thought and Memory who flew about the world and reported back to their master everything that was going on in the human world below."

Dean's thoughts whirled. "There were only two of them?"

Sam nodded. "That is correct."

Dean's thoughts spun some more. "Are there any ravens here?"

"Hmm. Interesting. Lemme check their range," Sam muttered and pecked away. "Nope. Crows yes. Ravens no. Too far south for them. They prefer colder, more mountainous regions."

Dean's eyebrows hopped and he stuck out his lower lip. "Then our dreams can't be about ravens, just crows."

"And yet we both heard the name of Odin," Sam interjected and then sighed in frustration. "Obviously we don't have all the pieces of the puzzle yet."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, well we better get all the pieces and put them together before someone else dies. Murdered by a murder of crows!"

Chapter 5

The next morning the boys roused themselves early. Sam headed to the main lobby of the dive hotel they were staying in to purchase a local paper. He returned to the room to find Dean just exiting the room door with the car keys in his hand.

"What's up?" he asked.

"You missed it, Sammy," Dean jeered in triumph.

Sam's face screwed up in confusion. "Missed what? I only was gone five minutes."

Dean laughed some more like he always did when there was some juicy development in a case. "Its all over the local news. There's been another bird murder."

Sam sighed and shook his head. "Lemme grab my stuff," he muttered.

He exited the room shortly thereafter with the pack which held his laptop.

Dean had the Impala already fired up and backed out of its parking spot. Sam jumped in.

"So fill me in. What happened?" Sam asked.

"Another person was killed by a flock of black birds. And get this. It was the kid's Dad," Dean said.

Chapter 6

"I already told the cops everythin'," the round farmer's wife told the brothers. "Can't you guys at the station get your stories straight?"

Her face was lined with the start of many wrinkles, her hair was streaked with salt and pepper and her eyes mere slits from squinting into the sun too long.

"Excuse me…Mrs. Hess…is that it?" Dean started. She nodded. "Is there a Mr. Hess we could speak to?"

Chickens clucked and scratched in the dirt at their feet. A matted farm dog slunk about them, eyeing the brothers warily.

"Not unless you carry a shovel in your trunk," Mrs. Hess replied. "Mr. Hess has been dead for fifteen years. Died in a barn fire. It's just been me keeping things together here."

Both brothers thought the same thing but kept it to themselves.

"Mrs. Hess then," Sam said. "Did you see what happened here?"

"Course I did. I'm always here," she replied. "Heard tell o' that damned attorney, Anthony Torres? Well he showed up here last night with legal papers."

The brothers exchanged suspicious looks.

"What kind of legal papers?" Dean asked.

"The eviction kind," she said glowering. "He and this developer crony of his have been trying to kick me off my land for years. Got me ringed in on all sides with houses. Now they're trying to push me out over some farm runoff, polluting the water table crap. So I kept the papers and kicked them out and told them never to come back."

"There were two of them?" Sam asked.

She nodded. "Torres and some whiny, weasely developer guy. I didn't get his name. Looked like if I shouted 'Boo!' he's screech and run. Tony was the brawn of the team."

Dean furrowed his brow. "What happened?"

She shrugged. "I was sweeping my porch. They came up to the house. I wouldn't let them in. I ain't no fool! I shooed them off. They went grumbling and scuttling to their car like the roaches they are, saying they'd be back with the police and making more useless threats."

"And then?" Sam asked.

She shrugged and stuck out her lower lip. Then she jerked her jaw at the flock at their feet. "See those chickens there?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other in mounting confusion. They looked at the chickens. Then back to her not understanding.

"What about 'em?" Dean asked rolling his eyes.

"Did any of my flock bug you when you came up here?" she asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged perplexed expressions again and then turning back to Mrs. Hess shook their heads in denial.

"That's right!" she told them defensively. "And they won't. I don't keep bossy chickens. Bossy birds end up in the pot!"

She sighed and placed her hands on her hips in an obstinate gesture. "One minute my yard had nothing but peaceful chickens doing stupid chicken things. I turned my back. There was a squawk. I turned back around. All I saw was crows. That fast." She snapped her fingers for emphasis.

"What happened to the chickens?" Dean asked and Sam smacked him.

Mrs, Hess bugged her eyes and shrugged. "Don't know. There were so many crows I couldn't see the yard let alone my flock. I've never seen so many black-feathered devils before at one time. And they all attacked Torres. _Only_ Torres! No accounting for taste I guess."

"What do you mean, 'No accounting for taste'?" asked Sam.

"Crows eat trash and garbage. Apparently the developer wasn't gamey enough," she told them.

They thanked her for her time and turned to leave. Then Dean remembered something and turned back.

"Excuse me Mrs. Hess," he said. "You said you kept the papers?"

The farm widow nodded. "Don't worry. I found a good use for them."

She smiled and scratched her backside. Then she smiled wider.

Chapter 7

Dean shook his head as they drove away. "That ol' broad sure loves her chickens!" he commented.

Sam was squinting at the front page of the local newspaper as his brother drove. "Hmmm," he mumbled. "But not crows."

They lapsed into silence again.

Sam frowned at the paper and then folded it and put it away. He pulled out his laptop.

"What's up?" asked Dean.

Sam shook his head and held up a hand. "Gimme a minute. I have a hunch."

He opened the small laptop and started to type.

"Hunch about what?" Dean asked trying to keep his eyes on the road.

"There's a festival this weekend..." Sam muttered. "Its always held at the same time 'round here every year, the last weekend in April or first weekend of May."

"What kind of festival?" Dean asked. The only response he got from his brother was a curt, "Shut up. I'm looking."

"Bitch," Dean retorted.

"Jerk," Sam fired back without missing a beat.

Dean grumbled. Sam frowned and ignored him.

"Hey wait!" Dean said as a thought hit him. "Isn't the beginning of May considered May Day in the old Pagan religions?"

Sam nodded. "Otherwise known as Beltane. It's the holiday of spring and renewal."

"So there's probably some pagan ritual or sacrifice associated with it?" Dean inquired. "What _kind_ of festival did you say this was?"

Sam suddenly smiled and cheered, "Aha! Found it! Every year for the past five in fact, there have been three mysterious deaths around the time of the festival that seem to have been caused by birds. 2003 a car with a small family of three ran off the road and hit a telephone pole because of a flock of birds. 2004 a small plane went down. The authorities said it was a flock of geese got caught in the fuselage but witnesses swear it was a flock of black birds…."

"Okay, I get it," Dean said. "Three deaths, all crow related, around this time of year. But what's the tie to the festival?"

Sam smiled. "Because there's a ritual to Odin on Saturday night after the faire closes its doors. Local religious groups have been trying to get the festival canceled for that and many other reasons."

"Then I say let's go and party at the faire!" Dean smiled.

Chapter 8

Dean glared at his brother as they stood in line to get into the Hanover Faerie Festival.

"Really Sammy? You somehow forgot to tell me it was a party for faeries?"

Sam chuckled and shrugged in submission. "Fine! You go back to the hotel and I'll stay and do some digging," he told him. "Besides, what have you got to worry about? It's not like these are _real_ fairies. Just people dressed up like them."

Dean sniffed. "I don't think a microwave will work on these Tinkerbells!" he grumbled.

A rather large, smiling woman walked past them dressed in a pink corset, ragged skirt and enormous faerie wings.

"I guess I should just be glad they're wearing clothes!" he grumbled quietly.

Something caught Sam's eye and Dean followed his gaze. Three lovely, thin women were lounging on the bank of a nearby creek dressed as mermaids. Their clam shell bras left little to the imagination.

"Really Sammy? Mermaids? You prefer scales to feathers? I thought you were interested in a different kind of tail," Dean teased.

Sam laughed. "Just tell me you're not digging the red-head there!"

Dean turned back. Neither was sure the red haired mermaid _was_ wearing a bra. The glittery red wig she was wearing was long enough to cover both breasts. She smiled to them.

In spite of his grumpy mood, Dean found himself smiling back. "She is kinda hot." He admitted.

Sam chuckled. "I never knew you were the Ariel type."

The red haired mermaid leaned towards them and beckoned. Hurriedly they paid the admittance fee and made their way over to her. Both wanted a closer look to see if she really was wearing a bra.

'Kubiando!" she said sweetly to them.

"Eh…koo…bee…what?" Sam replied.

"Ah!" she breathed. "First year at attendees?"

Dean laughed. "Are we that obvious?"

Her skin glittered silver and white in the sunlight and she had blue waves tattooed on both arms. She smiled and batted her long lashes at them. Every part of her exposed skin seemed dabbed in body glitter even her lips and eyelids. They towered over her and still couldn't tell what the rippling red locks, adorned with seashells, concealed on her chest.

"Kubiando is a faerie greeting," she explained. "It means hello and goodbye."

Her teeth were very bright.

Sam glanced at his brother. Dean seemed to have been struck speechless by the mermaid. He just stood there grinning stupidly and nodding to everything she said.

"Damn siren!" Sam muttered softly. He cleared his throat noisily and nudged his brother. "I'm sorry. But we're investigating some rather unusual murders in the area," Sam told her.

Her theatrically made up face darkened in concern. "Murders?" she breathed a little too dramatically. "Not here at the fair I hope! Nothing bad ever happens here!"

Dean seemed to have recovered at least some of his wits. "No, not here," he reassured. "Just in the area around here."

"What can you tell us about a…well this is going to sound odd…a flock of killer crows?" Sam asked. "Maybe it's a folk tale or legend in this area?"

The mermaid was silent for a minute thinking. Then she flickered her sparkly, silver lashes at them as she remembered something.

"You mean Raven!" She said suddenly growing fearful. She shivered as if cold.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "But ravens aren't native to this area."

She gave them each a most serious glance. "I'm not talking raven the bird," she explained and lowered her voice so they had to bend over to hear her. "I'm talking Raven…the spirit."

"I'm not sure I follow you," said Dean, trying not to laugh in her face.

She sighed, heaving her ample bosom which was so distracting to them. "Look. There are a lot of weirdos at this fair. Most are just people dressed up as different things, fictitious characters, completely harmless ya know? But not Raven. She's real. She looks human but she's not. And sometimes, she's not very nice."

"What do you mean she's not very nice?" Sam asked.

The mermaid gazed up at Sam. She looked somewhat irritated. "You like to poke things don't you? Jab at them until you get a reaction. Not very smart." She sighed again. "I guess you're about to find out then."

Sam and Dean exchanged worried looks again.

"Where can we find this…Raven…character?" Sam asked.

The mermaid jerked her chin upwards. "It's a bit of a hike. Up the hill, in front of the large stage where all the dancers hang out. She looks like just another dancer but in a bird costume. You can't miss her. She's the one the children are afraid of."

They thanked her and turned to go.

"Be careful!" she warned them. "And you better be polite. She doesn't like sass unless it's her idea. I'm not kidding. Nice knowing you."

They made their way further into the festival.

"Well that wasn't suspicious at all," grumbled Dean.

They meant to walk up the hill like the mermaid had directed and find this Raven person. They expected it would only take a few minutes. In reality it took more than two hours. The crowds were thick and the distractions many. Children with little, costume fairy wings, laughed and ran about them, chasing a woman in a large, flashy hoop skirt pulling a bubble machine on a wagon behind her. There was a parade going the opposite way of people dressed up in greenery, and leaf masks and bearing ornate walking sticks to negotiate. Dean was distracted by a local microbrewery giving away free samples of beer. According to him the beer was quite good. And there were belly dancers in every direction. Everywhere there was glitter and gold, bubble machines and booths hawking pretty things. Dean started to talk to a lovely dancer wearing a revealing outfit only to find the boa she was wearing was a live, five-foot snake. When he got too close, it raised its head and flicked its tongue in his face. Dean jumped back so fast he ran into Sam and nearly knocked him over. Sam spent the rest of the hike uphill laughing and teasing him about it.

Finally they arrived at the big stage. There was a small band dressed in leather, kilts and wearing face paint playing Celtic music. The field in front of the stage was filled with people in colorful costumes dancing and rippling to the music. Bare feet pounded the earth. Women swung their long hair about and hips swayed to the beat. The scent of incense and patchouli hung heavy in the air.

"Why do I feel like I'm at Woodstock?" Dean asked.

The band finished their set, said farewell to the dancers and departed the stage to cheers from the crowd.

Sam just shook his head. "Somehow I don't think Woodstock had bagpipers."

"Do you see anyone in a bird outfit?" Dean asked Sam.

Sam was used to his height giving him an advantage in such situations. But the ground wasn't level and there was a lot of motion in front of them. He peered about and shook his head in denial.

They never noticed they were being watched.

The band may have left and people may have dissipated but the dancers weren't leaving. Men showed up dressed in skins or body paint, bearing African drums; a lot of men with a lot of drums. They seated themselves on straw bales arranged in a large circle in front of the stage. Several women wearing sundresses moved about the circle lighting more incense sticks and jabbing them into the ground. The men began to pound on the drums. The dancers began to sway.

It was then Sam and Dean noticed they had somehow ended up inside the dance circle. The smoke from the incense was thick in the air. It made them feel very strange.

At the same time they saw a strange figured, cloaked in black, crouched on the stage, watching them with piercing black eyes. One minute the stage was empty. The next _she_ was there.

She wore a leather raven mask decorated in iridescent black feathers. Her hair was black and she wore some kind of feathery crest. She was dressed similar to a belly dancer. She wore a flashy, blue-black bra and a long gypsy skirt. Black lace gloves encrusted with crystals encased her hands.

But her eyes were not human.

The drumbeats thundered louder. The dancers swayed and laughed to the rhythm. Veils fluttered in the air obscuring their view.

Every time they lost sight of her, she reappeared closer to them. She made her way to the center of the dancers. The others cleared a space for her. None of the other dancers seemed to notice her or look her in the eye. The ground shook with the rumble of feet and drums.

A shade followed after the woman in black. As she spun in slow circles, the shade spread itself about her like dark, monstrous wings. Coins glittered and flashed. Feathers flapped and twisted in the wind of her own making. Clouds covered the sun and the field was thrown into shadow.

The grating cry of a crow sounded over their heads. When the brothers glanced up, they saw the treetops around the dance circle were loaded with crows, all perched and peering down upon the dancers with shiny, black eyes.

She was suddenly right in front of the brothers. The world seemed to slow down beyond them. The dancers didn't see them. The drummers took no notice. It felt as if they had been taken to place between the minutes.

"Odin has his eye upon you Sam and Dean Winchester," she spoke to them. "And I have his other,"

They shouldn't have been able to hear her over the din from the drums. But the three seemed removed from what was happening around. Time became distant.

Her voice was not quite human. It seemed to echo slightly.

"Are you responsible for the murders?" Sam asked.

The darkly dressed woman in front of them cocked her head to the side like a bird.

"Such a rude way to begin a conversation," she croaked. "I expected more from you, Sam."

She paced slowly around them. "Answer my question and I will tell you what you need to know,"

"What's the question?" asked Dean breathlessly.

She cocked her head in the other direction and looked at him.

"What does your name mean, Dean?" she asked.

Her dark eyes bored into his very soul. He felt certain she was not human. He smiled weakly and said in a quavering tone of voice, "Deacon? Priest?" He cast an eye over his shoulder to his brother. "A little help here, Sammy?"

But Sam only shrugged. "I have no idea,"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Great!"

Raven narrowed her eyes in irritation at him. "A simple, 'I don't know' would have been acceptable."

"Fine!" Dean sputtered. "I don't know then."

Raven sniffed in scorn and smiled. "I expected as much. It means 'master of ten'."

Raven moved to Sam and pinned him under her keen eyes. "And what does Sam mean?"

Sam flapped his jaw uselessly for a few minutes before finally giving up. "Honestly I don't know."

Raven smiled but not in a nice way. "Now that disappoints me. I expected more from a 'man of letters' such as you. The name Sam means 'God has heard'."

Her eyes flashed from one to the other. "Do either of you know why Odin lost his eye?" she asked them.

They shook their heads in unison.

"Odin sacrificed it in pursuit of wisdom," Raven told them. "Now he needs the raven sisters to serve the needs of the lost eye."

"That still doesn't explain the deaths of two people by crows in the past few days," Dean told her.

"Did you kill them?" Sam asked.

Raven looked at them both. "I observe," she replied haughtily. "I report my observations to Odin, the All Father. And then I carry out his orders. I do not judge."

They looked at each other, still confused.

"And for this you kill a young boy?" Dean asked.

She blinked as if insulted. "I do not defend my actions to mortals," she told them.

"So you did kill them," Dean stated.

But Sam put a hand on Dean's chest stopping him. "Wait. Aren't there supposed to be two raven spirits?"

Raven smiled. "Ah! Finally! The smart son asks the correct question."

She sighed and began the pace around them again. "My name is Munin,"

"Memory," Sam said.

Raven smiled again and nodded.

"Well, then where is the other raven, Thought?" he pursued.

Munin turned her eyes back to them. They were wet with unshed tears. "Gone."

"Gone?" asked Dean. "Gone where? Dead?"

Raven's face darkened and she seemed to shrink into her shadow wings before them.

"I do not know," she said. "And it kills me not to know what has happened to my sister raven. She is…lost. The murders began when she disappeared."

Raven turned to them. "I do not need to tell you what it is like to loose a family member and not know what happened. My memory tells me you already know this all too well. So find my sister. Bring her back to me if you can. In return I will tell you any secret you wish to know."

She began to fade before their eyes.

"Wait!" shouted Sam. "Where did you see her last?"

Raven continued to fade but her voice echoed in their minds.

"Here. She was here. She is the white raven. Her name is Huginn. Now she is lost."

And then Munin was gone too.

The clouds parted and the sun shone brightly down on the field of dancers. The world suddenly sped up and became clear once more. Sam and Dean blinked and looked about in confusion. Time had returned to its proper place.

Now everything was back to normal.

"Did we just share a hallucination?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure what that was."

"Well…whatever," his brother muttered. "Let's get away from this incense. I think its messing with our heads."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Sam agreed.

They hurried away from the dance circle.

They found that getting back to the fair's main gates to be just as difficult as navigating their way to the stage on the upper hill. Again the distractions were many. They got caught in two converging parades, one of a group of people calling themselves the Dark Fairies and the opposing force of water spirits. They ended up standing back against a booth that was hawking pottery and waiting for the theatrical altercation to subside.

"You do realize Sammy, that when I said, 'fight the fairies', this was not exactly what I meant!" Dean muttered.

Sam just laughed.

"Still," he mused. "This is making it very difficult to find out what happened. I mean if she disappeared years ago, the trail is long cold. I doubt anyone here will have the information we need."

Dean nodded agreeing.

"Excuse me but I couldn't help but overhear," spoke a voice behind them.

They turned around to find the owner of the booth they just happened to have stopped in front of, standing next to them. He was a tall, thin man with a balding head and a gray, handlebar mustache. He was dressed in a puffy sleeved, white blouse and brown vest, jeans and high, leather boots.

"I might be able to help," he told them as he peered over his spectacles.

"Do you know who were looking for?" Dean asked.

The older gentleman smiled kindly at them. "I don't need to know," he told them.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a deck of tarot cards. He immediately saw Dean's skeptical expression.

"We all have our own journey to make through life," he told them. "And we all make it differently."

His long, gnarled fingers flipped over several cards. He looked up sharply.

"You are looking for the white raven," he said. He appeared surprised.

Dean's look of suspicion increased. He refused to speak.

"Yes, we are," said Sam. "But we have no idea where to look. Could you help us?"

The old man's eyebrows hopped. He turned his gaze back to the deck. He flipped over another card.

"She is no longer on this property," he told them. He turned over another card. "She is held captive." Again he flipped over three more cards in quick succession. He heaved a heavy sigh.

"What is it?" Dean asked, impatiently.

The old man shook his head. "The cards say you must search nearby for a magic horse. This horse will guide you to where the white raven is held hostage. But be careful. She has been trapped by a fallen spirit who is very powerful."

He sighed again and shook his head. "You boys have your work cut out for you. Good luck."

Sam thanked him and shook his hand.

But the old man only rolled his eyes and muttered. "You're gonna need it!"

Chapter 9

Dean was glad to be away from the festival. Too much of what he had experienced disturbed him. He sniffed his sleeves, made a face of utter revulsion and began to pat his arms down as if he had been dusted with some powder and was trying to get it off his clothes. He uttered an exclamation of disgust.

"Everything on me smells of incense. I stink like some damned head shop!" he complained. "That better come out in the wash." He ran a hand through his hair. "Phew! I'm getting a shower first thing when we get back."

Sam just smiled and shook his head at his older brother's antics.

They were back in the Impala and the familiar roar and putter of the beloved, old engine was reassuring to them both. It was late in the day. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, lighting up the newly budded trees in orange flame.

Dean was still trying to brush the irritating smell off his clothes, while trying to drive at the same time when Sam saw it. It stood half in, half out of their lane in the road, glowing like a white street light. The Impala was quickly bearing down on it.

"Dean! Horse!" Sam yelled.

Dean swore and slammed on the brakes as hard as he could. The nose of the heavy, old car went down and the back end fishtailed wildly. The tires shrieked in loud protest of the harsh treatment.

The car screeched to a halt scant inches before hitting the white horse.

The horse raised its head from where it grazed at the roadside and just looked at them placidly. Then it turned back to the long grass as if nothing had happened.

"Holy sh…" Dean breathed. "I could have killed it!"

His heartbeat was slowly returning to its normal pace.

Sam took a careful deep breath.

"I'm just surprised you're more worried about the horse than the car." he muttered.

Dean glared at him out of wide eyes. "I'm glad it didn't end up on the hood of my Baby," he reassured. "You know what kinda damage that could do?"

Sam gave him a quizzical look. "I daresay the horse wouldn't be too pleased either,"

They looked at each other, then the horse. They both exited the car.

"You know anything about horses?" Sam asked Dean.

He shrugged. "A little,"

"I know they kick," Sam said. He hung back being careful to keep the Impala between himself and the horse.

Dean spoke softly to the animal. It knew he was there but made no attempt to run off. It took a few steps further down the road as if the grass was going to run away. It wore a green halter with a lead rope dangling.

Dean laughed a bit as he trotted after it and finally took hold of the lead. "It knows enough to play the 'you can't catch me' game."

He pulled the horse close and stroked its neck, speaking quietly. The horse snorted and leaned into his touch, placing its velvety muzzle in his hands.

"Nice horsey," Dean cooed.

"You two wanna be alone?" Sam said as he came up to them. Dean ignored the jab.

Dean was looking over the animal critically. "He's well taken care of," he mused. "He's not spooky or skinny. His feet look good. Wonder who he belongs to."

His eyes turned back to the horse's head and he squinted. "There's a name plate here,"

It was just dark enough that he needed to fish out his flashlight out of his front jacket pocket to read it.

"Say's his name is Prince Valiant," Dean said. "Hey wasn't there a comic book character or something with that name?"

Sam nodded. "From King Arthur's court."

Dean began to look about them. They were surrounded by newly planted cornfields.

"Where'd you come from Val my boy?" he muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, we just can't go traipsing around these strange roads in the dark looking for someone who lost a horse," he told him.

The horse snorted again and nudged Dean in the chest with his head. He laughed. "I think he likes me."

"Dean, you're not keeping the horse!" Sam said firmly.

"Awww! Why not?" But Dean was only half joking.

"Dean!" Sam insisted.

"C'mon Sammy!" he retorted. "We can't just leave him out here in the dark. He'll get hit by someone."

Sam sighed and frowned. He was tired and wanted to go back to the hotel.

"Hey, wait a minute. Do you think this is the magic horse that old Gandalf character told us to look out for?" Dean said abruptly.

Sam shook his head. "Since when did you believe in fortune tellers?"

Dean shrugged. "I just thought that…" he never finished the sentence.

They both scrutinized the horse a little closer.

"He doesn't look magic to me," Sam said. "He just looks like a regular old horse. They're kinda thick in this area if you haven't noticed."

That was when a shadowy figure appeared in the distance, peddling madly on bicycle. They shouted and managed to flag down the person. It turned out to be some local teen-ager.

"Hey kid!" barked Dean. "Do you know who this horse belongs to?"

The kid was panting hard but he nodded. "Sure. He breaks out all the time."

"Well, could you tell us where his owners live?" Sam asked.

He shook his head and made as if to leave. "Just turn him loose. He knows the way home."

In two large strides, Sam had caught up with him and grabbed him by the arm. The kid's eyes bulged and his face blanched white with fear as he looked up at Sam.

"Look! I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell us who the horse belongs to and we'll walk him home."

The kid's eyes darted in panic between the two brothers. He gulped and took a few more panting breaths. "He belongs to the widow Agatha just a mile back that away. Last farm at the dead end of Carver Road."

He waved his arm behind him.

"But you don't wanna go knocking on her door. She hates everyone! She's got this big old, white bird in the house. All the local kids say she feeds it trespassers! Even my parents are scared of her and my Dad's a policeman. Widow Agatha's mean as sh…Well…I'm not allowed to say things like that."

Sam nodded and let him go with a wave.

"Thanks mister. I'm not supposed to be out past dark. And even this is too close to the widow's place for me. Like I said. Turn him loose. He knows the way home."

The kid sped off as fast as he could peddle.

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

Dean frowned. "We're not turning him loose!" he insisted.

Sam shook his head. "I never said that,"

"Oh," Dean muttered. "Well okay then. I'll start walking. You follow us."

Sam laughed. "You want me to drive your precious Baby?"

Dean had already started walking. The horse followed patiently beside him.

"Hey! I think I can trust you to drive her at ten miles an hour," was his retort.

So Sam climbed into the driver's seat and after readjusting the seat to accommodate his long legs, he piloted the car beside them. He tried hard not to rev the engine and possibly spook the horse.

"Hey what do you think that kid meant about this Agatha character being a mean old bitch?" Sam asked.

The horse's hooves clip clopped quietly along the deserted road. Dean shook his head.

"I'm thinking it may tie into what the reader at the festival said about a fallen spirit," he replied.

Sam pursed his thin lips. "You think she's a fallen angel?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking," he said. "And what the kid said about a big, white bird that eats people sounds very suspicious."

Dean walked and Sam drove along in silence. The white horse didn't seem to have much to say. They encountered a couple of cars along their way but all in all the traffic was light on this road.

And then they turned down Carver road and the traffic stopped altogether. Both sides of the road were lined with dense forest. They passed a couple of lanes which led to homes that sat way off the road. Then they climbed a small hill. Slate rock jutted raggedly out of the hillside with trees growing through the cracks. They topped the hill and as they started down the other side, they saw their destination. The road wound down to a dilapidated mailbox that hung crookedly from a post. A dirt lane snaked up to an old farmhouse and a few barns. All the buildings looked like they had seen better days, paint was peeling, the shutters were hanging from one nail and the lawn's grass was longer than in the paddock which had no grass, and was nothing but a dirt lot. There appeared to be no lights anywhere on the property, not on the telephone poles, the outbuildings, even the house itself was dark.

Sam turned off the headlights and killed the motor. Since there was still a bit of an incline, he coasted the car up to the mailbox and parked. Then he exited the car and came to where Dean stood in the road with the horse.

"Look at this," Dean said and pointed at the mailbox.

Someone, they assumed local vandals, had spray painted the word "witch" in fluorescent letters over top of the decaled name of Agatha. The last name had chipped off from age and no one had touched it up.

"Think we're dealing with an actual witch here?" Sam asked in a hushed voice.

Dean shrugged. "Witch, fallen angel, they're all trouble in my book. What does it matter?"

Sam sighed. "Okay, what's your plan?"

"I'll take the horse up to the front door and draw her out," Dean explained. "You sneak in the back and try to find this white bird."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You want _me_ to sneak in the back door?" he asked. "Isn't that your M.O.?"

His brother grimaced. "I've got the horse to worry about. If she does try anything I'll duck behind the horse."

The horse snorted and shook its head as if it didn't like this idea one bit!

Sam didn't like it either and frowned in return but said nothing. He went the trunk and found a few weapons.

Sam passed Dean a dagger.

Dean slipped the angel blade under his jacket.

"What if this isn't a fallen angel? The dagger won't work then," Sam told him.

"Then use the machete and chop its head off. Maybe that will at least slow it down. And make sure you have your gun on you," Dean said trying the juggle the weapons and the horse's lead at the same time.

Sam just glowered and shook his head. "Dean, I don't like this. We really don't know what we're up against and I can't take the entire trunk arsenal with me, hoping to get lucky and hit her with _something_ that will actually work."

Dean smiled grimly. "We've gone into battle with less and lived."

Sam shook his head. "We should tie the horse to the fence, scope out the place and return in the daylight with a better plan."

But Dean refused. "We've got one more death to go before this thing goes dormant for another year. And last I checked, crows weren't nocturnal."

Sam sighed and relented. He had the angel blade. He also took a machete and a gun with silver bullets even though his inner voice was screaming at him those wouldn't work.

They looked at each other. The brothers gave each other a forced smile.

Then Dean headed off down the lane leading the white horse, glowing like a flashlight in the dark. Sam hopped the rotting fence, drew his handgun and headed for the back of the farmhouse in a crouch, his head on a constant swivel for trouble.

The house had a wrap around porch with both a front door and a back door.

Sam slunk up behind some bushes planted at the edge of the porch. At one time they had been well cared for. Now they had grown wild and were high enough to conceal his tall frame. He paused and took a good hard look at the wood of the stairs and the porch. All was rotted. He imagined putting any pressure on one step would make enough noise to alert the homeowner to his presence. He waited for his unseen brother to make the first move.

He didn't have to wait long.

He heard Dean shout. "Hey! Hello up there! I have your horse! Ya want him back?"

Something went bang inside the house like somebody had dropped a heavy object. Lights flew on all over the house. Boards creaked and groaned. Heavy footsteps stomped away from him to the front door. Sam heard a porch door slam and a pump action shotgun was cocked loudly.

Dean began to shout some more and the grating, angry sounding voice of an old woman answered.

Sam took his chance. He trotted lightly up the stairs, boards squeaking at every step he took. The back door was unlocked. He opened it and slipped quickly inside. Gun at the ready, he crept through every room in the house slowly and cautiously.

Although the lights were on, it still seemed dark inside. The rooms were filled with piles of junk and there were walkways through the accumulated stuff. Everything smelled old and musty.

Making his way to the living room, Sam finally found what he sought.

The room was piled with pillars of papers. But there was a huge bay window facing the east. In front of the bay window was an enormous iron cage, big enough to hold a tiger. And in the cage was…a large, white cockatoo.

Sam lowered his gun in confusion. The bird looked at him quietly. It didn't squawk or flap about in a panic. It did nothing but look at him blinking. It never made a sound.

"Huginn?" Sam whispered.

The scene before him rippled like heat waves in the desert. And suddenly Sam was looking at what the cage truly held.

Not a cockatoo.

"Odin's eye is upon you, Sam Winchester," she spoke softly.

She was dressed like Munin but all in white. She smiled up at him.

"My sister has sent me a fine gift," she told him.

Sam finally recovered his voice. "She sent us to find you,"

"Of course she did," Huginn replied still smiling.

Sam clutched the bars of the cage and then jumped back with a cry of pain as electricity arched down the metal and shocked him.

"The cage will not open for you, Sam," The white raven said.

"That would have been nice to know beforehand!" he fumed.

Huginn only laughed.

Sam glared at her. "Was it you who killed all those people?" he asked.

"No!" Huginn said and her ice blue eyes glittered. "Never!"

She shivered and huddled in the corner. "It was Agatha. It was never me."

"Huginn, what is Agatha?" Sam asked.

The white raven turned its eyes back to Sam and they looked terrified.

"She is a fallen Valkyrie. She has trapped me these many years and taken away my power. _She's_ the real killer here," she told him.

"How do we defeat her?" Sam asked.

Huginn's face twisted in scorn. "Nothing you have will work. You do not defeat a sacred being with mortal weapons!"

He only shook his head. "There's gotta be something. There's always something that will work."

The white raven's eyes darted about as she thought. And then they brightened and met Sam's gaze. "There's only one thing. Odin gave each Valkyrie their own magic spear to choose the dead from the battlefield. That's how she trapped me. She touched me with it and sapped my power. Now she uses my strength."

He expression turned to one of fury. "She feeds off it. Every person she touches with that spear their energy gets sucked inside and transfers their strength to her. And she does whatever she wants with it. She never goes anywhere without the spear."

"Then how do we defeat her if no human weapon will work?" Sam repeated.

A smile slowly grew on Huginn's face. "If you were to touch her with her own blade…"

"It would turn against her?" Sam suggested.

Huginn smiled and nodded. "It would absorb her power and then destroy itself. You wouldn't have to do much, just scratch her with it. It might also spring me from this cage."

There was a sudden report of a gun outside the house and a horse neighing wildly.

"Dean!" Sam cried out.

Then there was silence.

"The spear has spoken yet again," Huginn's voice was sad. Then her eyes flew wide. "She is returning. Hide yourself!"

Sam slowly stood up. "No," he said.

"Hide! She'll kill you if she finds you here. Hide!" she insisted.

A dark look had come over Sam's face. "She may have just killed my brother. I'm not hiding anymore."

He had the gun in one hand and the machete in the other.

"Fool! This is no rescue! This is a sacrifice! A useless sacrifice! Hide I tell you!" she urged.

"No," he insisted.

"Stupid mortal!" she shrieked. "I want no martyrs on my behalf!"

Then the door to the farmhouse banged open and a wind rushed in.

A large, wrinkly, old woman stomped into the house carrying Dean's limp form like a bag of feed under one arm and a pump action shotgun in the other. She saw Sam standing in the living room, gun leveled at her forehead and she laughed. She tossed Dean's form at Sam.

Sam so wanted to shoot her right then. But Dean's flying form came at him, arms and legs flopping uselessly and he was forced to pull his arm back and catch him. Dean hit him hard, knocking the wind out of him and bearing them both into one of the paper stacks.

Behind him he heard the old lady cackle. "Two for the price of one! Now the more the merrier."

Sam hurled himself to his feet, flung out his arm and shot her once in the forehead, point blank. Her eyes widened with surprise, her head snapped back on her neck and she fell, first to her knees and then to the side. Her body had barely hit the floor when Sam was on top of her. He pulled back his arm with the machete and with one deft stroke lopped off her head. He watched her head roll to the side, as he panted.

He ran back to where Dean lay on the ground. There seemed to be blood all over his brother. He slapped his face and called his name several times. Dean moaned. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"Get up! Get up you two!" Huginn was saying. "No time! That was too easy. She'll be back together in a second. Get the spear!"

Dean moaned again. "What's she yammering about?"

"We gotta kill her with her own spear or it won't take," Sam explained hurriedly. "Can you stand?"

"She shot me in my ass, Sammy!" Dean whined. "Who does that? I got buckshot in my backside! And then the horse jumped over or kicked me, I forget which."

"Dean, get up. We're not out of the woods yet," Sam urged.

A gust of wind seemed to coalesce in the room with them and papers flew about. Lightning flashed about the room.

"Sam and Dean Winchester," spoke a strange female voice from across the room.

Huginn whimpered and whispered, "Too late."

The brothers peered through the windstorm of white papers flying about. The old lady was gone. In her place stood a much younger woman.

She was tall, taller even than Sam and beautiful. Long blonde hair swept past her waist. Her skin was pale as snow, her eyes were glacier blue and she was dressed all in armor. The long fingers of her right hand still clutched a battered old shotgun.

"You know you two are rather famous among my sisters," she told them. "They were all taking bets on who would be the one to reap your souls. Ironic it will be me, the only one _not_ impressed by your antics."

"I guess we'll just have to try harder then," winced Dean.

She narrowed her eyes. "Ah Dean. Always the one with the snarky comeback aren't you? I don't see why the All Father is so impressed by you. I'm surprised after all you've been through, that you still own a tongue. I'd have cut it out long ago."

"You witch!" growled Dean.

"And you're a hypocrite," she replied. "Look at you two, always going on and on about how much you hate witches. And yet you both do spells always telling yourself it's for the greater good so that makes it not so bad. In my book, you're witches too same as your poor victims."

Sam hovered protectively over his older brother. "You killed all those people," Sam said trying to distract her from his injured sibling.

She turned to him and smiled. "Why yes, yes I did. And I enjoyed it."

"You killed a child," Sam went on. "Why? He was just a kid."

Her blue eyes blazed angrily. "Because he was a waste of breath! If he hadn't changed his tune by his eleventh birthday, he wasn't going to. He would grow up to be just another angry, enabled adult, believing that the world owed him something. Just like his useless father. You should be thanking me for doing your job."

Sam shook off the dust and stood up. "But that's not your call to make. Only God should decide such things."

"Your God, my Odin. It's all the same thing. God is silent!" she spouted. "He has been silent for too long. As far as anyone knows, His attention is not longer on this pathetic scrap of dust. He doesn't care anymore."

Sam frowned. "So you just decided to set yourself as judge jury and executioner is that it? No one should have that much power."

She smiled. "I do. And I want the job."

She turned her eyes onto Dean. "Take your brother for example. He likes to think of himself as some great crusader, saving the world against al the things that go bump in the night. The great white knight and hero. 'Saving people. Hunting things.' Isn't that your motto? When in reality all he really is, is the nosy little old lady down the street who knows too much about everybody else's business and has to advise everyone on how to run their lives in order to save them from their own idiocy."

She turned her eyes onto Sam.

"And then we have you. The one who loves research and books and knowledge of all things. Except you fail to realize that too much knowledge is a bad thing and some things were buried and forgotten for a very good reason. But no, you won't let sleeping wolves lie, will you? You just have to dig up all that forgotten lore and poke at it to find out what makes it tick. And in the poking what do you do? You awake the sleeping dragon. And dragons do not like to be awakened. Don't you know that?"

She shook her head and set her jaw.

"No. I am the real hero here. I make the hard decisions because I simply do not care what you puny mortals think. I'll end a child or even a baby's life if I have to. It makes no difference to me. You're just meaningless worms crawling in the dust on your bellies anyway. I've been looking forward to reaping your souls for quite some time now. Your day of reckoning has come."

Dean staggered to his feet with a look of grim determination on his face. "Yeah, where have I heard that line before?"

Sam and Dean exchanged the same look. Then without warning, they rushed her at the same time.

Agatha shouted and cocked the shotgun with one hand. The air shimmered around the weapon and it suddenly grew in length and changed its appearance. One minute there was an old, shabby gun in her hand, the next a long spear with a shining, silver edge like a sheet of broken glass.

Dean threw himself at her shoulder first meaning to knock her to the ground. Sam lunged with both hands for the spear shaft. Agatha shouted and tried to sidestep Dean. Sam got rapped across the face with the shaft end. Agatha raised the spear high above her…and accidentally jabbed the tip into the ceiling where it stuck fast.

Dean laughed. "I guess no one ever made house spears."

Then he kicked out at her hands. She let go of the spear shaft with a cry of pain. There was a sound of splintering wood as the shaft broke in half.

A flash of white light came from inside the cage and temporarily blinded them all. When the light cleared, Dean was grappling on the floor with Agatha. Strong as he was she was quickly getting the better of him. The spear tip was embedded into the ceiling and no one had hold of it.

A white raven swooped between Dean and Agatha. It pecked the Valkyrie in the face and beat her about the head with its wings.

"Sam! The spear!" Dean shouted.

Sam grabbed what was left of the spear shaft and jerked it out of the ceiling. Then he shouted to Dean. His brother sprang back and the bird flew away. Before Agatha could recover, he thrust the spear deep into her chest. It sliced through her armor like a new can opener. She shrieked in pain and began thrash wildly. Sam tried to hold onto the shaft but it was shuddering so much he was having trouble keeping his grip. Then Dean added his hands and strength to keeping her impaled to the floor.

Agatha opened her mouth wider than they ever thought was possible and uttered a sound no human could possibly make. Their ears began to bleed. White light flooded the room, a light so bright they could see it behind their closed eyelids. And then they were forcibly flung off the spear as if a nuclear shock wave had hit them.

They hit the ground and knew no more.

Chapter 10

The flames from the burning farmhouse shot high into the air, lighting up the farm. The flashing lights of the fire truck added to the brightness.

Sam walked over to where Dean slouched awkwardly in the Impala with the passenger side door cocked open.

"I don't understand," Sam told him. "All we needed to do was call it in and let the firemen handle it. Why are we still here?"

Dean turned his head away from the fire and focused on something nearer. "There was a certain loose end I had to take care of," he told his younger brother.

Sam followed his gaze.

The white horse stood tied to a fence rail, quietly watching the proceedings with great interest.

About this time the local sheriff approached them.

"Hey. Thanks for calling it in. Most locals would have just let it burn," he told them.

Dean smiled and said, "Well I just wanted to make sure the horse was okay,"

The sheriff laughed. "Oh don't you worry. I know exactly what to do about that horse."

About this time a car pulled up. The sheriff smiled and waved. A woman and a little girl of about ten exited the car. The girl had long blonde braids and a questioning look on her face. The sheriff hugged his wife. They both smiled at their daughter. Then the sheriff waved his arm in the horse's direction.

The little girl's eyes grew wide. She screeched in joy and raced to the fence. She climbed to the top rail and held out her hand. The horse sniffed the offered hand and stepped closer. She jumped into the paddock and threw her arms about the horse.

The sheriff and his wife came over to Sam and Dean.

"She's been taking lessons," he explained. "And we promised her if she kept her grades up and did all her chores, we'd get her a horse."

"Her birthday is tomorrow," said the wife.

Wide smiles broke over the brothers' faces.

"Well everything has turned out for the best then," Sam said.

"All she ever wanted since she was four years old was a horse," said the wife. "Thank you. You've made her very happy. We'll give Prince Val the best home we can."

The sheriff and the wife headed over to the fence to congratulate their daughter.

Dean smiled and shook his head. "You know Sammy, bad seed or not, I would have saved that first boy if I could. If I had known. But seeing this…this softens the blow a little."

Sam smiled and climbed into the driver's seat. Dean painfully positioned himself so that he could close the passenger door. Sam fired up the Impala and they drove away.

"Besides, you never would have let me keep him anyway." He muttered.

They returned to the hotel and showered and went straight to bed. They slept through most of the next day. Then they packed up their belongings, checked out and headed for home.

They had barely gotten on their way when Dean had a change of heart.

"Do you mind going by the festival before we head home?" Dean asked.

"No," replied Sam. "But why? The gates just closed to the public for the day."

Dean winced and not from the pain in his rear that was preventing him from driving.

"I can't shake this feeling that we've left something undone," he told him. "Just humor me will ya?"

Sam laughed. "You got shot in the ass! Sure I'll humor you."

The Impala changed direction and they headed to the festival.

The cornfield where the attendees parked was nearly empty. Everyone was headed home for the day except the vendors who were camping on the property.

They parked the car and climbed out.

"Now what?" asked Sam.

"Thank you," said a melodic voice behind them.

They turned to find the raven sisters standing there.

"You have returned my sister to me," spoke Munin the black raven. "There will be no more bird murders now."

"Not used to getting thanked," mumbled Dean.

"I saw what you did with the horse," Huginn told him. "That was very kind of you."

"Well, somebody said I couldn't keep him," Dean grumbled and Sam nudged him.

Huginn laughed. "Valiant was never yours to keep," she said. "If you had thrown a leg over his back you would have quickly found that out. Only women can ride the steeds of the Valkyrie. A man must be dead to ride. If he isn't, the horse will kill him."

Sam and Dean gave each other concerned glances.

"The little girl will be safe with the horse. Right?" Sam asked.

Munin laughed. "He'll be fine. Its where he belongs."

"Its just…" Sam stammered. "We were told to look for a magic horse. And he didn't seem that magical to me."

The ravens smiled and exchanged amused looks.

"Valiant will raise that little girl to be a fine woman," Munin told them. "She will never sell him or give him up."

"She will go to college and become a veterinarian," added Huginn. "She will fall in love and get married and have two daughters."

"And Valiant will teach her daughters and her granddaughters how to ride," Munin said.

"Wait a minute," Dean interrupted. "How old is this horse?"

The ravens smiled widely. "Centuries." They replied. And Munin went on. "He has already lived many generations of humans and he is barely half his lifespan."

"The girl is quite safe with him," they reassured the brothers. "She will just get used to bending the truth when it comes to Val's age."

Munin stepped forward. "Odin is pleased with you," she said.

"Really? Agatha told us that God doesn't speak because he doesn't care," Dean said.

Huginn laughed briefly. "God has stopped speaking because no one is listening. No one wants to shut up long enough to hear what He has to say. To hear God speak one must be silent. And the people of this world like to talk too much. They expect God to say certain things. So that's why He says nothing. He's waiting, waiting for someone to listen. Really listen. No expectations. Then He will speak."

Munin took both Dean and Sam's hands. "I made you both a promise. Save my sister and I will tell you anything you need to know. I keep my promises. Ask."

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Dean smiled and dropped his eyes apologetically. "If it's all the same to you, I'm good."

"Me too," agreed Sam.

Munin bowed to them. "It is an open offer. I am in your debt because of what you did for my sister. If you ever need us in the future you, have only to ask. We are at your service Sam and Dean Winchester."

And with that, they were gone.

Sam sighed.

"Now I am good," said Dean. "Gimme the keys Sammy."

"What? You're hurt! I got…" Sam protested.

"No, really I'm good. No more buckshot in the ass all of a sudden. Now give me the keys!"

With a jangle, Sam tossed his the keys. "Fine!"

Dean caught the keys and made for the driver's side.

'I guess my Baby is the only horse I'll ever need," he said.

The End


End file.
